These are the hands of my daughter. They are the voice of her heart. Gentle and kind yet calloused and strong. This is the story of hands I once held in mine. The great wind from wings that she grew, caught in my heart as our fingers withdrew. They carry a burden of words yet written and the sounds of yesterdays verse. As the pages fall from her feathers for all to read, I’ll close my eyes and memorize each line. When its all said and done there will be no ink in the book that is written, for a story’s told by hands turning the pages as life makes you stronger……..